Hunter's Mark
by Grencats
Summary: Post TDK. Starting a new life isn't easy. Starting a new life as a being that is no longer completely human? A little bit harder. But freaks come in all forms and one thing they have in common is learning to adapt. All you need is a little push.
1. You know that feeling?

**A/N:** Forgive the mess, I haven't written anything in... god knows how long. I'm rusty, but hopefully this will be interesting enough regardless!  
Anyway, this story is one of many that I'd like to write. It's post TDK and will include other characters from the comics and B:TAS, some of which will have their background fleshed out since they have never really had much of one to begin with.

**_Disclaimer:_** Batman, The Joker, and anything regarding that universe belong to their respective creators. No profit is made from this piece of writing, nor does anyone else have my permission to do so.

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Drunk.  
Such a state was impossible to achieve with this slop. Expensive slop, but slop nonetheless. Drunkenness was a luxury that, with quite some bitterness, she knew would not accompany her throughout the rest of the afternoon.  
For the most part she accepted this.

Of course, such a revelation did not quell her determination to be accompanied by a constant buzz as long as she felt the need to remain here.  
Which was basically until the prudes felt a need to cut her off or until she felt her social obligation had been met. Though she suspected none would dare go as far as to openly cut her off. It might show some sign of intolerance towards one of their very wealthy, and very absent, benefactors.  
As it was, she didn't show any sign of being intoxicated.

She still couldn't believe that thee Bruce Wayne, billionaire playboy and figurehead of Wayne Enterprises, could and would talk her into attending such an event. An odd accomplishment by itself, as she wasn't the type of person that usually accepted random acts of kindness.

Though it probably wasn't quite as random as she had originally thought. Whatever the case, no matter how many times she tried to refuse the offer, Mr. Wayne was not a man that liked to accept the word 'No' unless it was under his own terms. That or he really didn't want to be forced to mingle with these people.  
If that was the case she couldn't blame him, as she too was doing her best to avoid rubbing elbows with Gothams elite army of prudes and staunch aristocrats, while trying desperately to get drunk enough so that her... anxiety, would abate.

On the plus side, the art that had been presented for this particular gallery was, for the most part, interesting. Until now. The last leg of the gallery turned out to be just a little too modern for her tastes. As much as she could tolerate and work with technology, when it came to her old hobbies she was pretty much a traditionalist. All of this... this postmodernism and pop art crap assaulted her eyes and did nothing to aid her current predicament.

Of course... once this little shindig was over with, she really had nowhere else to be. She hadn't heard back from Brawly yet, which probably meant that her little... anxiety issues were taking a turn for the worst.  
Not that they had ever been _good_, but getting worse?  
She very much dreaded the scenarios it brought to her floundering brain.

With an inward sigh, she finished off the last of her not-so-boozilicious drink and darted her hand into her pocket, lifting out her phone just enough to see what time it was.

Not late enough.

Marcus wouldn't even have the bar open yet. Hell, she doubted if he was even up. Not that he desperately needed the patrons, but with the types of 'customers' he served she couldn't imagine them not needing or wanting another place to... drink, while they waited for the last rays of daylight to diminish below the jagged maw of Gotham.

She began to wander around again, looking at images she had already looked at and finding them no more interesting than the last time she'd looked.  
Maybe they were a bit fuzzier around the edges, but anything of further interest stopped there.  
Or was that the 'anxieties' doing?  
Lost in her thoughts, at some point she ended up depositing the empty glass she had been holding rather loosely with her fingertips, considering another drink but quickly deciding against it.  
After all, she wasn't an alcoholic. Not in the typical sense.

As long as she didn't stay too late and took her 'medication', as she liked to think of it, things should remain tolerable.

Of course, in Gotham, nothing ever went according to plan. In fact... people would probably live longer if they never went by them.

Especially when there was always one individual that never seemed to take a night off.


	2. Knock Knock

She wasn't sure why, but she had the sinking feeling that some oppressing presence had made its way into the gallery. It might have been the growing silence, or the sudden shuffling of feet.

Or, it might have been the man in a purple suit that was brandishing a gun, lips twisted in a maniacal grin as he sauntered into the room. Other men with more guns were quickly filing into the room as well, corralling the occupants and forcing them to sit on the floor.  
Aside from the guns in the lackeys' hands, as she couldn't think of them as being anything else, none of them seemed to carry the same presence or command such a distinct amount of attention as the one with the painted face.

A face that, she thought, didn't seem to be just covered in paint. Even in her slightly inebriated state, she thought she could make out the very tell-tale signs of scarring on both sides of the mans mouth. Masked ever so slightly with red paint to make it look like one huge, disfigured smiley-face.

All this happened so quickly that she had hardly noticed one of the armed lackeys standing beside her, and ordering her to sit down on the floor with her back against the wall. The order caused her to briefly stare at the man, the urge to wrench the gun from his hands and shoot him with it was just a fleeting thought, but one that was apparently rather obvious. She had a cold nozzle hastily pressed into the side of her neck before she had any chance to wrangle her emotions.

_Blasted issues..._

With her fists clenched, and a scowl playing at the corner of her mouth, she slowly sank onto the balls of her feet before extending an arm to steady herself as she finally took a seat on the cold gallery floor. Her delayed compliance must have been a tad longer than she had originally thought, as a few of the patrons continued to stare at her as she scooted back towards the wall and brought her knees up enough to rest her arms across the joints. She had the distinct feeling that the lackeys painted leader had fixed his gaze in her direction, but she didn't dare look up to confirm the suspicion.  
Not when it felt like her blood was starting to boil inside her body.

_Shit! Come on booze, I know your cheap but do you have to be completely useless too?_

In the moments that it took her to get herself under control, the lackey which had tended to her already moved on to make sure the other patrons were in line and backed against the wall. The painted man took one last survey, possibly making sure things were to his liking, before he straightened up and addressed the crowd.

"Good afternoon, Ladies and Gentleman! What a great _dis_-pleasure it is to be here, amongst Gotham's most high-strung and pretentious." The man turned and eyed his captive audience, a grim smile flashing across his face as his gloved hand gripped a smaller sized knife.  
His lackeys kept circling the room like a pack of scavenging dogs, looking for any reason, legitimate or not, to lash out at any of the captives.

"But, perhaps one of you could help me find a new hanging for my office. I'm quite a fan of this artsy crap, but I never know what I like..." He moved closer to some of the captives, a ways away from her but not far enough that she couldn't tell what was going on.

She could tell that the man had the knife pressed against the face of a woman, the empty hand keeping the woman from looking away.

"How about you?" his voice little more than a guttural growl as he dragged the woman towards the center of the gallery. She nearly stumbled into the man as he yanked the terrified woman to her feet, still holding the blade across the side of her face.  
It took a few moments before the man became impatient with his captive and shoved the end of the blade into the corner of her mouth, instantly stilling her and making her very aware that her pathetic example of 'struggling' was no longer going to be tolerated.

While all of this was happening, Rae, a name she adopted only months before arriving Gotham, could feel the buzz begin to ebb away from her senses. She was becoming more and more aware of the mounting fear had long since settled into the gallery, the beads of sweat beginning to form on the back of her neck and the clamminess that ate through her skin to gnaw at her bones.

_No... no No **NO**! Not now!_

Her breath started to quicken as she fought against the panic that arose in the back of her mind.  
She _had_ to keep it under control. Especially now! Oh gods why did she have to push herself into staying longer?

... Oh, that's right. She had nowhere else to occupy her time while she awaited 'the call'.

_Yeah, because thinking about that crap is really helping me right now.  
S_he cursed at herself and started the tedious task of shutting down her senses, one-by-one.

It was damn near impossible when that stupid captive wouldn't shut up! She couldn't spare herself a moment to see what was going on, but she doubted it was anything that would justify the amount of noise that continued to pour out of the woman.  
She had to concentrate!

As she became more absorbed in her task, the scene with the painted man started to become a little more... _lively_, for those involved.

"So, I'm thinking I'd like something... _aggressive_. Something that says, who I really am..." The man bobbed his head and raised eyebrows to his captive, acting as if the woman had openly agreed to help him.

The man shoved the woman away from him as if he had found new, more interesting prey to hold his attention. He glided across the floor with a slight spring to his step, muttering a little tune under his breath as his gaze darted over the paintings and the captives that were huddled underneath their frames like frightened children.

"Eeny... meeny... miny..."

"...-Dead."

With a smack of his lips and an unnerving stare, the painted man made a slight motion towards his lackeys, who obediently stepped in and yanked another of the captives to their feet. The new participant, who managed to shove one of his assailants away from him before being quickly subdued by the other, was a man in his mid thirties. This man, who was obviously very rich, held an air of undeserved importance about him. He was a man that couldn't buy the world, yet felt everyone on it should be subservient to him nonetheless.  
One of those "High-strung and pretentious" types.

"A _freak_ like you has no business being here!"

Clearly, also one of those pretentious types that didn't know when to keep their mouth shut. It didn't take long before the captive found himself being silenced with his own tie, his protests garbled by the expensive material as it pulled against the corners of his mouth.

"A... _freak_ like me?"

Oh dear.  
There was a certain darkness to the painted mans voice, one that seemed to promise that there were many possible atrocities the man was considering.

"What's a party, without a couple of _freaks_?" The painted man stalked closer to his new prey, knife in hand and deadened look engraved on his face. "Lets see what we can do about you..."

At that moment, it wasn't the tone of the painted mans voice that destroyed the mental barrier Rae had been fighting to maintain. It was the gut-wrenching scream.


	3. Ta Dah!

It was a sound filled with agony.  
A tortured, piercing wail that shattered the mind and willed the body to collapse upon itself.

For Rae, it was something more. Something worse. Something that caused the blood to boil within her veins, the clamminess that had plagued her quickly dissipating and becoming a blanket of fire over her sensitive skin. Pulse quickening, eyes blurring and constricting, hands clenched white-knuckle tight as her breathing became more erratic until the only thing she could hear was the howling of a tortured animal.

No... not an animal. A man. A man?... Gallery? A gallery! That's right, she was at an art gallery. Not... there.

It was minutes before she realized what had almost happened, and the knowledge that she had almost relapsed was enough to cause her to gag. Not that anyone seemed to notice.

Although she was not the only person to have had such a strong physical reaction. A quick glance at some of the other captives confirmed that many were also gagging at what was being carried out before them, while a few were unable to steal their nerves and had proceeded to vomit various contents onto the once-spotless gallery floor. Once Rae looked up, she understood why.

At least she thought she did. Rae was almost certain that she was watching the painted man twist his knife into the captive's eye, his expression the mirror image of an artist who was deep in concentration as he worked to create his new masterpiece. With a flick of his wrist, the painted man popped the knife free of his captive's eye socket. A grizzly companion accompanied the blades withdrawal, skewered almost midway between the tip and the bolster.  
The painted man casually removed the gore that adorned his knife, pinching the blade between his fingers and scraping off the blood and what little remained of the now unidentifiable eye. There wasn't even a seconds hesitation as he rid himself of this new mess, flinging the contents of his gloved hand at the seated captives with a disproving scowl playing on his lips.

Wiping the blade against his thigh, the man took a step back and studied the new addition. "Hmmm... not _quite_ what I was going for. What do you think? Too depressing?" The man glanced back towards the previous captive, who had since sunk down to her knees and was cupping her hands over her mouth, obviously in shock over what she had just witnessed.

Her captor simply raised an exasperated brow at her and turned his attention back to his previous task.

"I know!" A wild cackle escaped those scarred red lips as he darted towards the bleeding captive, gripping the agonized man by the back of the neck as he stabbed the blade through the side of the captive's mouth. Another tortured scream filled the gallery as the captive's mouth was cut open. First one side, then the other.  
It was a slow process, the small knife having to work hard in order to sever the thick flesh.  
She could only imagine it was made all the more painful by the fact that the captive was still being gagged by his tie, the material pulling back against the corners of his mouth as the blade twisted the opposite way in order to fulfill its wielder's ghastly desire.

Rae was certain that the painted man was drawing out the whole process, watching with wide, disbelieving eyes as the assailant closed his own and started humming a guttural tune while he hacked away at the captive's face.

"_Ta-Dah!_" The painted man suddenly drew back from his victim, a twisted expression of pride and pleasure being worn as he gazed at what was left of a human face. Under all of the blood, the marks that had been carved into the captives face resembled the scars that blossomed hideously from the corners of the painted mans mouth. Rae could still hear the high-pitched chortle as the painted man grabbed his previous captive and forced her to look at the 'masterpiece' he presented to her.

"How do you like it?" the painted man shouted at her, eyes alight with such malice that even if the woman found the presentation beyond horrifying she'd dare not say so. As it was, the only sound she could muster was a half-choked sob. A sob that her captor seemed to take for something more, quickly ridding himself of the woman and backing away with a frown. A smart move, as the woman probably couldn't have held back the vomit for too much longer.  
The painted man just looked at her in disgust, stepping away from her as if he was afraid of catching vomit on his shoes.

"Hmpf. Well, I guess if you don't succeed..." The painted man waltzed back over towards his mutilated masterpiece, pinching the cheek that quivered bellow the now hallow, and still bleeding, eye-socket.

"_Try, try again!_" he exclaimed through clenched teeth. A flash of silver was all that Rae had time to notice before she'd come to realize that the painted man had forced his blade into the throat of his bloody captive.  
No one would be able to say that he made the process quick, even with the captive thrashing against the lackeys that held him... which was possibly why the painted man took his time.

He wanted the prude to suffer as he died, and wanted an audience so that they would witness the enjoyment he received from it. Blood spurted every which way as the blade was jerked from one side of the captives throat to the other. The lackey that had hold of the makeshift gag kept it taut, forcing the flesh and muscles to stretch and tear even further.  
The gore wasn't what bothered Rae, as gruesome as it was. No. It was the memories. Cold. Disturbing. Painful... ...and very, very personal. The only way to keep herself aware of the current situation was for her to dig her nails into the back of her neck, bowing her head between her legs as if to shield herself from the sight taking place before her.  
A hot pressure started to build up behind her eyes, every time her heart contracted she could feel the rush of blood pulsing through her face. She was going to lose control... and because of it, people would die.

Rae didn't even bother to look up when she heard something heavy collapse against the floor. She didn't need to. There was really only one thing that it could have been, and she knew it was the body of the mutilated, and now deceased, captive. However, she did raise her head enough to catch a glimpse of the painted man sleeking back his matted hair. His gloved fingers left streaks of blood wherever they touched his skin. Occasionally a small droplet of blood would fall from the blade he still clutched in his hand, everyone watching as he inhaled slowly and began to pace in a small circle, glowering at his captives.

His face carried little emotion as she watched him survey the rest of the room, all she felt from the man was a blackness that threatened to consume anyone and anything that was fool enough to ignore the severity that possessed this painted monster. "Now... do we have any _volunteers?_"


	4. Callin' In Twisted

**AN:** _Song lyrics belong to Reverend Horton Heat, "Callin' in Twisted"_

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_

She should do it. Really, it would probably be more merciful than what life would throw at her if she continued trying to live like this.

It was either that, or to further endanger the rest of these horrified prudes. She didn't want them to suffer at the hands of that painted monster.

But there was already so much, and so many, at risk...

"Hmmm... looks like we might need a little motivation."

Rae could only watch as the painted man tore a gun away from one of his nearby lackeys and turned on the closest group of captives, aiming haphazardly before squeezing off a short round of bullets in their general direction. More panicked shrieks echoed throughout the gallery as the unlucky victims slunk this way and that, limbs twisting into unusual positions as body after body became nothing more than a lifeless bag of meat.

It didn't take long for the scent of ruptured organs to mingle with the thick, choking stench that already hung in the air. Unfortunately, these new additions were just too much for those with a weaker constitution.

Vomit.

Defecation.

Blood.

Death.

Such an offensive accumulation of smells, one that Rae had desperately hoped she would never experience again. Life had a rather funny way of coming back to haunt her at some of the worst possible moments.

"Until we have a volunteer, I will kill one of you _delightful_ people every two minutes. Now, I am not a very patient man... so I _suggest_ that one of you step up and play!"

_Now. Do it now._

_Stand up._ _You have nothing to lose, not in this town..._

_-NO!_

_The people!_ _So many people..._

_-people?_ _You don't owe 'people' anything, especially not your life!_

The battle that raged within her conscience prattled on. One side begged her to have that monster end her torment, that it would be the only blessing received in her fractured life. The other scolded her, insisting that it was not her responsibility to save these people, that they were part of the reason behind her madness! Why should they be exempt from experiencing the sickness that infected the rest of this world?

A sudden streak of pain quickly dissolved Rae's thoughts, causing her to wince openly since it felt like a cactus was trying to burrow its way through the front portion of her brain. The sensation lingered for a few seconds before escalating into a searing migraine. This new development didn't quell her conscience for long, her previous concerns stampeding back into her thoughts while the migraine continued to grow in intensity. It wasn't long before nausea began to settle in the pit of her stomach, bile churning and bubbling as her frustration started to reach its peak.

_Worse... it's getting worse... decide quickly you silly girl!_

Yet with the physical pain escalating, all she wanted to do was ball herself up until her ailments abated.

A particularly violent wave of pain and nausea caused her to do just that. It shot through her body with such force that she wasn't sure she could keep from crying out, clenching her jaw so tightly that she thought she might break a few teeth if this particular spell were to last much longer.

Her throat tightened.

Her muscles strained.

Her mind tore itself apart...

…. and she knew. She had no choice.

All she could was try and brace herself for whichever layer of hell she was about to be thrown into.

"Well well, looks like we have ourselves a volunteer..."

The tone of the mans voice sent a shiver down her spine. She could feel him hovering nearby, smell the gunpowder that clung to his clothes. The air was thick with malice, all of it radiating from one man...

A man that completely ignored Rae's attempted movement and dragged another hapless hostage into the center of the gallery, passing the gun off to its previous handler as he looked upon his knife favorably.

Rae couldn't focus enough to stop him. Trying to will her muscles and limbs into a stable crouching position was difficult enough, attempting to stand so abruptly would probably result in her losing any sort of balance she might have. Flopping and flailing like a hooked fish never really looks intimidating.

Even as the hostage sputtered and pleaded, Rae did her best to reach a noticeable height and gain their attention. It didn't take much. Standing, albeit weakly and using the wall for support, had at least caused an uneasy shifting to spread around the group of lackeys. Unfortunately, it didn't seem to phase their leader.

She wold have to come ip with something else.

Horking up a bit of blood might work, and she already had plenty of that coating her mouth. Luckily it wasn't from a ruptured organ or some illness, but the inside of her cheek.

If she managed to live through this, it would have to be a liquid diet for the next couple of days.

Not even needing to force a few throaty coughs, although nearly collapsing with each one, it didn't take long for a nice layer of blood to build up on her lips. She wiped the back of her hand across her mouth, being sure to leave a thick streak of blood on her hand that would hopefully cause the leader to focus on her instead of the simpering man he already possessed.

The commotion, and increasing unease amongst the lackeys, did the trick. Somewhat.

While it might have been an intriguing development, it didn't keep the painted mans attention for long. Rae knew she probably looked like she was about to collapse at any second, which is exactly how she felt.

Yet she had already forced herself through this much, and was not a person who enjoyed pissing away her time and effort.

Armed with a purpose, Rae drew on her frustration and pain, using them as a mental crutch while she forced herself to stand without the aid of a wall. It was a slow process, but one she eventually achieved.

Luckily, or perhaps unfortunately, this got the painted mans full attention. Though he didn't move, nor did he relinquish the young man who was obviously horrified by this unforeseen predicament.

All the white-faced man did, was stare at her. His expression, at least what she could make of it, seemed to be nothing more than one of neutrality. A ruse, no doubt. It had to be.

If it wasn't...

"Well well, it looks like Player 2 has entered the game." The painted man gave a brief, raspy laugh as he shoved the young and budding prude towards his bristling lackeys.

Not exactly the reaction Rae had been hoping for, but hope was all she had to work with. Still, the young man stood a better chance around the lackeys than with the purple-suited monstrosity that lead them. Probably.

"Yeah. Free Credits are always a wonderful thing." Rae couldn't keep a grimace from touching her lips. Talking was even more of a task than standing, or coughing, had been.

"MmmHmmm..." The man purred lazy as he walked towards Rae, bloody knife in tow. "Although, you look a little... beat."

"You can see the crap they put up in this room... and they call it 'Art'. It's enough to make anyone with a bit of taste, look like this." Rae drew in sharply as a knot of pain tightened on her left side.

"Ah, so you know Art?" A jagged smile spread across the painted mans face, made all the more gruesome by the scars that pulled at the corners of his mouth.

Now only a few feet from her, Rae could see the extent of the scarring. Not exactly hideous, admirable in a very twisted way, and more than anything... a point of curiosity. All of which, she planned to keep to herself.

The man threw an arm around Rae, pulling her forward as if she were nothing more than an old friend. He spun her towards his first 'Masterpiece' with enough force to throw Rae off-balance, causing her to take hold of his coat and vest to keep herself upright and steady while she found her footing. It was a rather awkward position to be in, knowing what the man could do and had already done to others. More than that, her head was reeling from the overwhelming number of scents that she was being assaulted by. She could identify and ignore most of the previous scents, but now there were others of a more... personal nature.

She was barely aware of anything else going on around her, trying to will her body into getting untangled and away from the painted man as if she weren't in excruciating pain. Her body wasn't in any condition to obey her wishes.

A firmness settled along her waist and hoisted her into a slightly more stable position, and just as quickly shifted her so that her back was pressed against the painted man. Rae felt a slight knick against the side of her throat, just below her jaw, and knew that she was trapped.

Warmth blew across the other side of her neck as the man drew close enough to whisper, "_So_, what do you think of my work?"

Rae took a minute to let her senses recuperate, her hands going to rest on the arms that held her in place. She felt the man tighten his hold on her, the pressure against her throat more noticeable as the cold of the blade cut through her skin, but was allowed enough wiggle-room to find a position that would allow her to relax under the hold of her captor.

Uncomfortable as the situation was, Rae didn't feel as if she were in any immediate danger.

No.

If anything, it felt like he was... toying with her.

Maybe analyzing her?

… Assessing her?

Rae focused her attention on the 'Masterpiece' that lay across from them. "Well... decent composition. A little unrefined, but hardly surprising given the time spent on the... piece..." She paused when she felt him draw closer, could tell that his lips were only a few inches from her neck.

It made her skin crawl and sent a chill down her spine that caused her to squirm in annoyance.

A dry, throaty chuckle signaled that her captor was rather enjoying the reaction.

"... The color pallet is somewhat dull, but not a point to dwell on. My only complaint is that your subject seems to be a little... " His lips raked against her flesh as Rae spat out the last word like a threatening growl "..._lifeless_."

Her captor continued to increase her discomfort by tracing the back of her jaw with his thumb, trailing it down her neck and letting the blade drag along in a very unconcerned demeanor. "_Lifeless_, hm?"

Even his tone lacked any recognizable emotion.

Until her phone went off.

"_I'm callin' in sick, I'm callin' in twisted._ _I was drinkin' two-fisted._ _I'm sick!_ _I'm callin' in twisted!"_

Not only did cause her captor to burst into a fit of maniacal giggles, he seemed very eager to fish the device from her pocket. Just as well, the phone had become lodged in a very uncomfortable position and was vibrating angrily. It was starting to make her thigh go numb.

The man swiftly pulled the phone from her pocket and took a quick glance at its small ID screen, Rae attempting the same thing but her captor would not allow it, holding her in place by the blade being pressed against her throat. It only took a few seconds for the man cancel the call, flip open the device, and turn the phone off.

Rae was rather surprised when he tucked the phone back into her pocket, acting like the distraction had never occurred, and dropped his hold on her.

He walked over to his lackeys and turned towards the poor prude that they had been keeping detained, who was trying to act as if he had suddenly rediscovered a sense of dignity and attempted to confront the painted man. His bravado was quelled with a blow to the stomach that would have dropped the young man to the floor had the lackeys not possessed a firm grip.

Rae knew things were about to get very ugly, and she was far too exhausted to attempt another distraction. No doubt the painted man was aware of her fatigue.

A brief glance in her direction, and the expression on his face, was all the confirmation Rae needed...

…. when a faint 'clinking' noise caught her attention.

It was so subtle that it nearly startled Rae out of her wits. What little she had left, anyway.

Apparently her reaction had not gone unnoticed, as once again the painted man left the young prude in the care of the lackeys that held him... and waited.

For what, Rae didn't know. She wasn't entirely sure she wanted to find out, but given the current circumstances... didn't have much of a choice. So she waited.

For what? …. She still didn't know.

However, it was becoming very obvious that the painted man was getting rather agitated by the situation. It showed in his movements. Stiff, slow, and very precise. A predator waiting for the prey to make the first move.

Rae had the distinct feeling that he wouldn't have to wait much longer. Something in the air, something she couldn't quite identify, made her sure of it.

As if he could peer into her thoughts, the painted man took a momentary pause and glanced back at Rae. The look in his eyes; unmistakable...

Well, it _would_ have been unmistakable. For everyone else the sound was akin to a shrieking child. For Rae it was like a dog whistle from hell. A sound that somehow ravaged the body and boiled her mind, seizing muscles once she managed to roll herself into a fetal position.

Her perception faltered once, buckled, then broke completely, sounds and consciousness becoming nothing more than muffled nonsense as a dank awareness passed over her. Fleeting memories... once before... dead, killed them... darkness. So merciful... finally over? Her thoughts trickled away, like grains of sand within an hourglass, until the last remnants were nothing more than hushed whispers.

Until, finally, silence.


	5. Oh Bother

**A/N:** _50's Grill_ is a restaurant in Minnesota.

* * *

"_Give her another unit."_

_Silence. Uncertain murmurs. Rustling papers. Concern._

"_Sir? She has already been given a full unit! This is far more than what our numbers indicate to be necessary."_

_More silence. The stench of rage. Bitter, stale. Heavens, it reeked!_

"_I do not __**care**__ about your damn numbers! Give her another unit, or I shall make sure you are the one who will be tending her when she wakes! If you don't recall what happened last time, they are still trying to locate the missing body parts from the previous orderly. For God's sake, they are still peeling off strips of flesh that are embedded in the walls!"_

_Panic, quickening pulse. Fear. Yes... oh yes, she remembered that afternoon very well. There were times when she could still taste the poor woman between her jaws. She hadn't meant to... not really. She just didn't want them to touch her. Poke her. Cut her._

_But, she was gaining control. It shouldn't be much longer._

_She moved her finger, just slightly._

_A gasp. __Shuffling feet._

"_Need I say it again? Give her another unit!"_

_No. Not much longer at all..._

…. Garbled noises circled her like a swarm of bees. Her head ached terribly, and the smells were making her nauseous. The pungent stench of too clean medical supplies always did...

Her eyes flew open as realization dawned upon her, thrashing about as she stumbled from the gurney and ripped the IV from the back of her hand. In her panicked state the pain never registered, the desire to flee hit her with such urgency she nearly dove atop the pavement.

She could feel them staring at her, some backing away while others crept forward. Were they trying to surround her? Her feet stumbled behind her, drawing her away from curious eyes while her vision started to clear. She could almost make out the uniformed men and women that crowded the street and wandered about the sidewalk. There were other figures there as well, figures that some of the uniforms appeared to be talking to.

And then she remembered. The art gallery. The painted man. The noise, the mess. The bodies strewn about. Then that noise! Did she pass out? ... Fuck, how long has it been? It couldn't have been too long!

"Miss Hastings?" A warm, steady voice broke through her thoughts. "Is everything alright?"

Rae closed her eyes and rubbed her palm across each closed lid. "Yeah. Just a little... " she inhaled deeply and let out a short, shaky sigh. "Doctors and medical personnel tend to give me panic attacks. We... we don't usually mix very well."

She dragged her palm across her eyes one last time before opening them once again, letting them adjust to the mid-day sun and the numerous sets of flashing lights that circled atop squad cars and various emergency response vehicles.

"Is there anything I can get you? A place to sit?" his voice, which was actually quite soothing, carried a tone of genuine concern that touched Rae. She nodded and tried not to dodge the hand that closed about her elbow, gently steering towards an open squad car until she could sit on the passengers seat, one foot propped upon the lip of the doorframe while her other leg dangled over the asphalt.

"Thank you, Mr..." she did a quick search of his jacket, but noticed no obvious form of identification. The man smiled and offered his hand. "Gordon."

Rae shook it and returned his smile. "Mr. Gordon. Thank you." Now that she could focus on the world around her, Rae finally took notice of Mr. Gordon. He was an older gentleman, perhaps mid to late forties, lean and well kept. His hair was just beginning to gray at the temples, which matched the thick mustache that adorned his face. A pair of glasses rested atop the bridge of his nose and completed his profile. He was certainly a man to be respected.

"Miss Hastings, would you mind if I asked you a few question?" There was no urgency in his voice, but Rae could tell that there was something that troubled the man.

Of course there was something that troubled Rae too, mainly the fact that she was starting to feel very ill. She had gone far too long without eating, and didn't doubt that the wine had worked its way out of her system by now. She needed real food. Fast.

She sighed, trying to find the right words. "That isn't a problem at all... but.. I really need to get something in my system. I have hyperthyroidism and the whole, killer-clown-and-passing-out business really did a number on me." True, true, false, and true. Three out of four isn't horrible, right?

Gordon smiled again. "I think we can do something about that."

He backed away and waited until she adjusted her position before closing the door. She watched him wave down another officer and have a brief exchange before returning to the squad car, keys in hand. She quickly strapped herself in as Gordon settled into the drivers seat, turned the ignition, and pulled away from the scene.

With little traffic to compete against, the ride was blissfully short. Gordon eased the car to a crawl as he pulled into one of the few remaining parking spots that ran alongside a rather derelict looking curb. Rae unfastened her seatbelt and took a quick peek out of her window, glancing over the diner that lay nestled at the end of the block.

_50's Grill_ was lit up in bright neon lights, enticing those who craved an authentic 50's meal experience, or who wanted to sample a little slice of americana.

Either way it looked promising.

Rae popped her door and eyed the crumbling curb with only the slightest bit of concern. It wasn't as if the condition of the curb was really that bad, she just didn't want to have to do any more maneuvering than what was absolutely necessary. The less energy she expended, the less she would need to eat. Especially when her hunger was still growing.

The more she stared at the curb, the more it dawned on her that the whole situation was silly. It was a curb, not a field of landmines!

_It's going to be one of __**those**__ days again_. Given the previous turn of events, she only hoped it wouldn't get much worse.

They walked in silence as they made their way towards the diners entrance, feet slapping against standing water that would soon become puddles if the days forecast turned out to be accurate.

Gordon held open the door as Rae scuttled into the lobby, greeting the hostess before going through the ritual of 'how many is in their party', and 'would they would like to be seated at a table or a booth'. After settling on a booth for two, the hostess grabbed their menus and lead them towards the back of the dining area, weaving them through a maze of other booths before they were seated in one of the far corners, away from the other patrons.

The hostess placed their menus on the table and aimed a friendly smile at Gordon. "A cup of coffee and some water, Commissioner?"

"Yes, thank you Lisa."

"No problem. Terri will be with ya in a sec."

Rae watched the girl skip back towards the lobby and wondered if she was normally that cheerful or if she was just 'in character'. Maybe the Poodle skirt gave her superpowers, or she was completely buzzed from consuming a few energy drinks. Whatever the reason, she envied her.

She made peace with such knowledge by picking up a menu and scouring the Beverages section. Between the menu and placemat it was a rather impressive section, ranging from obscure malts, to phosphates. Even with all the variety, she knew exactly what she wanted. It was almost a no-brainer. A relief, as her stomach was beginning to voice its disapproval about the lack of food it has received. Especially now that it was so near.

Unfortunately, she was so hungry that any type of craving had abandoned her senses some time ago. To top it off there were many items that sounded absolutely delicious, she was certain she could eat them all. Perhaps if she were alone, but with the Commissioner...

…_. The Commissioner?_ Well, this will certainly make things more interesting.

"Here ya go. Sorry about the wait," A basket of bread was placed between them, followed by a piping hot cup of coffee. "Can I get you something to drink?" Terri whipped out a pen and book of order slips as she glanced over at Rae, waiting for a response.

"Could I get a Butter Brickle and Hot Fudge Malt?"

"Nice choice, that's one of my favorites! Are you ready to order too or do you need a couple of minutes?"

"That's good question." Rae looked towards Gordon with a slight shrug.

"Nothing for me. Miss Hastings?"

"I'd like the Hamburger Steak Supreme, please." Rae closed her menu and handed it to Terri.

"Sure thing. Would you like soup, salad, or mashed potatoes?"

"Mashed potatoes sound good. Could I get gravy with those as well?" Not exactly a healthy addition, but she needed the calories. Besides, they really did sound good!

"Not a problem. What kind of vegetable would you like? "

"Um... corn would be nice, if you have it."

Terri nodded as she finished jotting down the order. "We sure do. I'll be right back with your malt." She flashed a quick smile as Rae thanked her, then turned and departed for the kitchen to fill the order.

"You're going to make me feel like a pig." Rae crossed her arms and rested them atop the table, staring into the dark pool of liquid that passed for 'coffee'. She could already tell it was bitter. For whatever reason people seemed to skimp out on the coffee grounds, missing out on what a good cup of coffee could really offer.

Such a shame, and a complete waste.

"So... what kind of questions do you have for me?" She tried to hide her growing unease, crossing and uncrossing her feet at the ankles, while a slew of possible questions ran through her mind. To which she tried to think of some sane answers.

Gordon sipped his coffee as he mulled over the question. Whether he had many of them or was trying to be tactful, she couldn't tell one way or the other.

"You haven't been in Gotham for very long, is that correct?"

Rae nodded, "Pretty much. Moved here about... four or five weeks ago, I think." She reached over to the bread basket and tor off a hunk of bread, tearing it into smaller pieces before she popped each individual piece into her mouth. Better to start off slow so she wouldn't make herself sick.

"I don't suppose you have been following the news since then?"

"The most I usually indulge in is a headline or two on one of the web browsers. Nothing local." She leaned back into the booths cushions. "Most of the time the news is just too depressing, or such stereotypical media drivel that I'm not sure if my IQ came away from the article unscathed."

They were interrupted by their waitress, Terri, who presented Rae with her malt and the necessary accessories for enjoying the tasty treat. Rae reached for her malt once she popped the last piece of bread into her mouth, positioning the straw so she could take a long pull from the glass. The malt was sweet, creamy, and comforting, full of flavor but not so overpowering that it needed to be sipped slowly. She felt some of the tension drain from her mind and body as the thick shake filled her stomach, while simultaneous giving her a respectable brain freeze.

"Then I guess if I mentioned the name Joker, it wouldn't mean anything to you."

She finished another long sip and shook her head. "Not a thing."

He had grown sullen at her confession, and she knew there was some bad news to be laid upon the table.

Rae began to stir the malt with her straw. "Let me guess... the painted guy has something to do with it." Wonderful. What the hell kind of city did she move to?

"We had an few incidents with this man about eight months ago. Mob related at first, but eventually he struck out on his own. Even the mob became terrified of the monster they had unleashed," he diverted his gaze "The city lost some good people to that monster."

"One of them was a District Attorney... she had also confronted the Joker." His gaze settled on her and said all that she needed to know.

Rae sucked on the straw as she went over her available options. There weren't that many of them, even fewer that wouldn't end up putting someone else in danger. "Do you really think he would go that far?" Gordon knew more than she did, hopefully there was something he could tell her that would narrow down her choices.

Gordon just sighed and shook his head "I don't know. There were extenuating circumstances surrounding the previous incident, but so far he has targeted anyone who stood in his way. Neither severity or intent seem to matter." He sipped his coffee again, distracted by his thoughts, "I suspect this time will be no different."

She continued to work on her malt, whose flavor had turned bitter with the conversation. The idea that someone probably wanted to kill her wasn't what bothered her, it was the fact that she couldn't avoid it without making people suspicious.

_Damned if you do, damned if you don't... and damn that phone!_

She almost knocked over her malt while she fumbled for blasted device.

"Is something the matter, Miss Hastings?"

Rae flipped through the menu and looked at the list of missed calls, feeling her stomach clench as she stared at the name that belonged the most recent number. "You... you could say that," She turned the screen towards Gordon "Not so sure I'll be going to work for the next few days."

She had never bothered changing the entry of "Wayne Enterprise" to "Work". Being held hostage and threatened by a demented clown that would somehow end up answering her phone, wasn't something she ever put much thought into. "Think he'll make the connection?"

"It would be best to assume that he already has."


	6. Brain Error

"Fan-_tastic_. Instead of some looney ex, I get a sociopathic clown." The temptation to throw her phone across the diner was almost too strong. Instead, she stuffed the traitorous device deep into her pocket.

Her stomach clenched with renewed anxiety. Maybe she _should_ leave. Draw him to her and take care of this mess on her own. But how? Could she track him from the gallery?

_Maybe,_ she mused _maybe I don't have to._ Gordon feared this man, or at least had enough sense not to underestimate him.

She stirred the frigid malt while she let her instincts go to work, almost certain that Gordon was trying to figure out what was going though her mind. Fair enough. She could spare a few harmless tidbits. "I'm going to assume that he knows where I work, _and_ where I live. What kind of options am I looking at?"

"What I am hoping you will agree to, involves your employer," The Commissioner studied her over the rim of his mug "He has agreed to house you in one of his condos while we continue our investigation. This is not a permanent solution, of course, but hopefully it will give us enough time to track down the Joker and put him back in Arkham."

_I must need another dose._ Maybe two, she was so awestruck by the offer. It must have showed, for Gordon went back to sipping his coffee as he awaited her response.

"Commissioner... I can't accept something like that. Some random apartment or a shack in the middle of the woods, sure. But that?"

"No, thank you. I _can't_."

The Commissioner didn't seem the least bit bothered by her refusal. Did he even hear her? Perhaps she had spoken too softly. "Commissioner?"

"Perhaps I forgot to mention that you still be working, it will just be somewhat of a 'Home Office' arrangement. This is not a vacation, Miss. Hastings. More of a temporary re-location."

_Of course it is. _Without a sane excuse, as second refusal was out of the question. Anyone else in such a situation would either be considered a fool, or they were hiding something.

Then again, she _was_ hiding something. But options were few and far between, and if this clown knew where she lived...

"Well, I guess since I'll still be working and whatnot..." she sighed in resignation, "Alright. What do you need me to do?"

"Nothing. Mr. Wayne will make sure you have everything that you may need. The only thing you have to do, is stay put."

'Staying put' was out of the question. "For how long?"

"Two or three weeks."

_Yeah, definitely out of the question_. 'Two or three days' sounded much better.

"Here ya' go, Hamburger Steak Supreme." Beaming, Terri presented a mouthwatering banquet that was quickly accompanied by a bottle of ketchup and a few more napkins. "How's everything look?"

The food smelled so good, Rae almost started to gorge herself as soon as the plate hit the table.

"Very good, thank you." _Now please go away so I can eat._ She unraveled her silverware, placing a few pills on the napkin, and dug into her meal; forgetting about Mr. Wayne, moral debts, and her new stalker.

After a few mouthfuls of food had passed through her gullet, it was time to choke down the pills. Scooping up a generous glob of un-melted malt and decorating it with 'sprinkles' was the quickest way to dispose of the wretched things.

"Is it severe?"

"The brain-freeze? It's not that bad anymore."

"Your hyperthyroidism. I can't imagine it's easy to live with."

Rae prodded the mass of sludge that sat in the bottom of her glass, scooping up its contents as she shrugged. "It's not easy... but it could be worse. Right now I just need to have the dosage increased... and I'm running out of what I have left." Perhaps a little honesty might aide any future plans. "At the moment, I'm waiting for a call about a new prescription. Clown or no clown, I'll need to pick it up."

Neither said anything else on the subject, which gave her a chance to take in a few more mouthfuls of food. She would have to remember how to get back to this place. Even though there was no way to ease her concerns, the food was at least comforting and an effective distraction.

It reminded her of home, a place she hadn't thought of in months. There hadn't been a reason to.

For some reason it didn't hurt to think of it now. She couldn't go back, couldn't even get in touch with family or friends.

So why did she feel... comforted?

"I'm sure we can work something out," Gordon topped off his coffee as he continued. "How many days do you have left on your current prescription?"

_A good question._

If things continued to be so unpredictable, it wouldn't be long. With a generous amount of alcohol she might be able to drag things out, but it wasn't something she could count on. Sneaking out to the bar every night might be near impossible or far too easy. Counting on either would be rather foolish.

Even before the clown, she had to increase her dosage every once in a while. Now it was an absolute necessity.

"Best case scenario? Three or four days. Worst...one, maybe two." Naturally, her thoughts drifted towards the worst.

They went over Rae's encounter with the Joker while she finished her meal, exhausting every question, scenario, or possible loose end that they could conceive. Terri came and went, making sure that neither wanted another refill or had acquired a hankering for one of their many desserts.

She had, and asked for a slice of Banana Cream Pie to go.

As they waited for her boxed dessert, she excused herself and took off towards the bathroom. All the booze had finally worked its way through her system and was urging her bladder to take action. It was a small bathroom, but luck was on her side and she had the place to herself. Not that it would have made much of a difference. She just preferred as much privacy as possible since it would give her a chance to check in with Brawly.

If he could give her a timeframe, even a best guess, it'd be something to work with. The chance of that happening was unbelievably low, he was never very forthcoming with that kind of thing. Hell, his guesses were never very accurate. She wasn't even sure they were really guess, just random numbers he threw out there to satisfy her.

It never did, but until now it was never an issue. Annoying, sure. But she could deal with annoying.

She wished it would go back to being annoying.

Once her bathroom needs were met, complete with the practice of good hygiene, it was time to start fleshing out a plan.

The phone chirped and whirred as it tried its hardest to reach Brawly, each time it went to his voicemail the device seemed to sulk a little bit more. After a few more attempts, she'd had enough.

"Lee! I need you to pick up." A pause. "Seriously, pick up. It's just a wee bit important."

More silence.

"If you do not pick up, I will call every five minutes and leave an obnoxious voice-mail." The line stayed quiet. Usually that was enough to pull him from his work, but today he was going to be stubborn.

"I was held at knife point today and nearly let that wonderful 'condition' get the better of me. The pills are running out, I'm not going to be at the apartment for a while, hell, I'm not sure if I'll be able to get the pills you're working on. Oh, and I have a psychotic, homicidal clown stalking me, and it's really making it hard to stay calm and -"

The sound of clanking glass filled the receiver, followed by a slew of curses and other assorted grumblings that she had become accustomed to. Brawly hated interruptions of any sort, but especially interruptions that he found mildly intriguing or that might have an impact on his current project. Hers probably contained a little of both.

"Cripes girl, what the hell kind of trouble have you gotten into now? And what about those pills? You had enough to last at least three more weeks."

Somehow, he always managed to make her feel a little guilty. He was never condescending or accusing, even if he threw around more vulgarities than a horned up drunkard. When he didn't, it meant he was past the point of 'concern' and was careening towards hysteria.

"Yeah, about that..." it was like being caught in a lie, and she didn't know how to salvage the wreckage of this soon-to-be disaster. "See, with the whole 'stalker' business, and watching people die, I've been popping those things like they were Tic-Tacs."

"Wait, you took almost two weeks worth of pills in less than twenty-four hours?" The clinks had stopped, and she had almost thought the call had been dropped. A quick peek showed that the seconds were still ticking away, and if she strained her hearing there was the dull but reassuring hum of his equipment.

Maybe she had worded that poorly.

"Oh, ah, not exactly. Work has been rough this week, so... about two weeks worth of pills in ninety-six hours. The rest will be gone in a few days."

Glass shattered on the other end of the line, and a new string of curses greeted her ears.

Ok, so he wasn't happy. But how was she supposed to know people would be suffering horrifically today, and that she would have a front-row seat? It's not an easy thing to get over, even when someone might have deserved it! He should know that. He _did_ know that.

"Look, I'm trying to take care of it. The cops are involved and they're tracking down the guy... clown... _thing_, as we speak. Problem is, the clown is good. The cops are afraid of him, and he has probably been to my apartment. I need to find this guy and do... something. Maybe kill him, I don't know yet."

Killing the guy was the most likely scenario, but she was open to suggestions. Brawly didn't offer any, and she didn't really care enough to ask. After all, it was the least of their worries.

"So... how are those new pills doing? I'd like to know what kind of time frame I have to work with." The line quieted again. She could imagine his jaw clenched in an effort to keep from reaching through the phone and strangling her. If anyone could find a way to do it, he could. She held the phone a good six inches away from her ear just in case he might have found a way and hadn't bothered to share such information.

"This batch is tough. I don't know how much more can be done to it without the risk of putting you into a coma, and now you're telling me it might need to be even stronger?"

He sighed, "Maybe another day or two. There are still a few things I haven't been able to fully test, but they look promising so far. The cosmos are aligning, the doses don't seem to be conflicting with one another, all that positive crap."

_So tonight is as good a time as any._

"But please do me a favor, and try not to be too...rash." The futility of his request was not lost on either of them.

"Sorry. The wheels of stupidity are already in motion, and by tonight it will mature into a full blown plan of idiocy and regret."

Brawly grunted as he ended their call, no doubt more dismayed than amused.

She felt bad, asking him to do so much in such a short amount of time. But he always came through, and her debt to him was always expanding.

Him, and Bruce Wayne.

Wayne.

He was going to be just as dangerous as the clown...

Muffled exclamations seeped through the bathroom door before it was flung aside, allowing a small conclave of gossip-mongers to flood the tiny restroom. Somehow, news of the gallery had already spread, as their comments were all but accurate about the incident and whom they heard the story from.

_And this is my exit._

She beat a hasty retreat before too many of the comments sank in. It wasn't her job to set them straight, nor was it any of their damn business in the first place. Rounding the corner showed that Gordon was still waiting at their table, along with an older gentleman that she had never seen before.

Gordon caught her gaze before she reached the table, standing up to meet her as he motioned towards their new guest.

"Miss Hastings, this is Alfred Pennyworth. He will be escorting you to your new home."


End file.
